


Après-vous

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade's hoping their luck has changed.  A continuation of the story started in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/881520">Strong-Willed Warrior</a> and continued in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/883677">Lumineux</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Après-vous

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #10: What's All This Then? - make today's entry from the POV of one of the police.  
> Warnings: Unspecified but grave whumpage. Violence. Fighting. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.

I’d just about begun to believe that our luck had finally changed, and Mr Holmes and I would manage to carry Doctor Watson out of the warehouse and to safety without being noticed. Naturally enough that was the moment when three of the smugglers came charging out of the shadows and crashed into us.  
  
I barely managed to avoid being bowled over, and I lost my grip on Watson’s legs.  He went sprawling, torn from both of our support, and tumbled to the ground in a heap. I grappled with one of the thugs, grateful that he seemed almost as surprised as I was by the sudden fight. He’d lost his knife in the collision, and now he was simply trying to grapple with me. He was far taller than I was, and heavily muscled, and from his sudden vicious grin I knew he thought he had the upper hand.  
  
And so he did, in bulk and in brawn. But I’ve been a small man all my life, and an Inspector for more years than I care to recall. You don’t survive either as long as I have if you don’t learn how to _really_ fight. I dug my nails into one of those beefy wrists with enough force to make him howl. His grip loosened, and I kicked him in the cod, which ended his yell and breath alike. I grabbed onto his hair and slammed his head down on my knee before he could recover himself. The impact hurt, but did far worse to him. The sudden warm gush told me I’d broken the fellow’s nose, and he sank to his knees, barely able to stay upright with the sudden shock of his injuries. But that wasn’t good enough, not with Doctor Watson still unconscious and bleeding, not with two more smugglers to deal with and a warehouse full of them besides. I pulled out my cosh and gave him two swift, hard blows to the back of his thick head. He tumbled over, out cold.  
  
The fight hardly took any time at all, but it had taken all my attention. I turned, half-expecting to be jumped by at least one if not both of the other fellows, for surely Mr Holmes could not hold back both of them.  
  
And yet there he was, standing protectively over Doctor Watson, stick in hand and a terrifying snarl distorting his face. One of the smugglers lunged just after I turned, quick as a cat, and yet Mr Holmes was faster yet. He parried the lunge with not just one blow, but a series of strikes that my eye could scarcely follow but sent the man stumbling back, and finished with an overhand swing that caught the second man square on the shoulder.  
  
I saw my chance and took it, attacking that man while Mr Holmes returned his attention to the first fellow. The smuggler had forgotten I was nearby if he’d ever paid me any attention at all. Between his bad shoulder and the element of surprise, it wasn’t long before I’d laid him out the way I’d done his companion. Mr Holmes made similarly quick work of his opponent. By the time I was sure neither of my sleeping beauties would be waking to trouble us anytime soon, Mr Holmes was kneeling by Doctor Watson, ignoring the groaning, whimpering man writhing on the ground just beyond.  
  
“Never mind him. Help me with Watson,” Mr Holmes ordered as I moved to put out the third smuggler.  
  
“But - ”  
  
“I broke his jaw and both his wrists. He won’t trouble us.”  
  
The words were clipped, almost clinical. Anyone who didn’t know better might think that Mr Holmes was hardly bothered by any of this, not by the fight, not by the injuries he’d inflicted. But I do know him, and so I could see the rage he’d leashed down behind that controlled façade, and the fear that had fuelled it. Not fear for himself, but for the man who lay so helplessly still on the ground, head cradled gently in one of Mr Holmes’ hands.  
  
I had seen what fear for Mr Holmes looked like on Doctor Watson’s face many times. Indeed, I had seen what the ‘death’ of his friend had done to the man, both when he’d first returned from Switzerland and in the three years we’d all thought Mr Holmes was dead at the bottom of a waterfall. A man who’d survived Maiwand can survive almost anything, and Doctor Watson is as enduring a man as can be found, but I wasn’t the only one who’d feared that the steady wear of loss would break him in the end.  
  
Looking at Mr Holmes, I suspected that he’d be nowhere near as stoic in the face of Doctor Watson’s death as the doctor had been in the wake of his. I was certain sure I didn’t want to find out if I was right.  “Was he hurt in the fight?”  
  
“Not directly, but the fall did him no favours. I can’t tell if the bleeding is worse, not without risking worse damage to his arm.”  
  
A police whistle shrilled in the distance, followed closely by others. From the sound of it, the constables had engaged at last, and they had summoned reinforcements.  “Finally,” I grumbled.  
  
Still, it wasn’t likely that they’d catch all the smugglers, particularly not the senior leaders. Especially not without an Inspector to let them know that the French leaders were present, and to guide them in their overall efforts.  
  
I reached down and straightened Doctor Watson’s legs before taking hold of his feet once more. “Let’s get him to a doctor.”  
  
Mr Holmes nodded. “After you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 10, 2015


End file.
